Christmas the Year the World Didn't End
by xPhineasx
Summary: Nearly half a year since the world didn't end, and it's Christmas. Why not celebrate with a little style? Crowley always had loved Christmas.


_Christmas the Year the World Didn't End._

Crowley/Aziraphale

Just in time for the Holidays. This ended up super fluffy. Heh. Enjoy.

_Reviews are always loved._

x x x

Crowley liked Christmas. This often surprised people. As a demon, he was expected to be morally (or, as it were, immorally) opposed to any holiday that was celebrated for the glory of God. But that was the thing, Crowley always argued back, Christmas was not really about _Jesus_. It was about money, and good old kidnapped Pagan Holidays, and getting drunk on eggnog. Crowley liked eggnog, and Christmas lights, and Black Friday, and mass consumerism, and mistletoe, and terrified children sitting in the laps of sketchy mall Santas. All in all, it was a great time.

Aziraphale told him that he enjoyed Christmas for all the wrong reasons. Crowley cheerfully agreed. That was the idea, wasn't it? For every person who gets into a rage about the "War on Christmas" or pepper sprays a fellow shopper so they can buy the last video game system on sale, the world became just a little more awful. Mission accomplished.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, rather disliked Christmas. For one thing, more and more people actually tried to purchase books from him during the holiday season, and the effort it took to chase them off was exhausting. On top of that, he was subjected to horribly inaccurate nativity scenes and "Jingle Bell Rock" for a month. He didn't like the modern music (which he heavily suspected of being "Be-Bop"), he never understood why Mary and Joseph looked so incredibly caucasian, and no one ever remembered to include him in the scene right next to the wise men. It made him huffy.

He couldn't dislike all of it though. The good old fashioned carols were nice, and at the core, the Holiday was about togetherness and love, wasn't it? There was something rather comforting about the idea of snuggling up in a big sweater with a cup of hot chocolate, listening to "oh come all ya faithful" and reading a book by the fire, even if Aziraphale was still rather wary about fire near his books since _the incident._ He was an Angel, and deep in his soul he had to enjoy Christmas somewhat.

Plus he always had a soft spot for gift _giving_. He had given Crowley his first house plant, while Crowley had given him his first computer. Both had ended up liking the gifts more than the other had planned on. Aziraphale had no idea that Crowley would be so taken with the little house fern. But then, he always knew that deep down Crowley wasn't as much of a Grinch as he wanted people to believe.

Despite his rather torn feelings about the holiday, Aziraphale couldn't deny that the idea of watching Crowley get drunk on egg nog while wearing a Santa hat was a decent enough way to spend a Christmas eve. Normally Aziraphale would sit around the book shop reading his books until Crowley showed up, uninvited as always, with a big bottle of egg nog and a Santa hat flopped on his head. It had happened every year since 1953, and Aziraphale had simply accepted it as a new tradition, much like feeding the ducks and lunch dates at the Ritz.

So when Crowley invited him to his flat for Christmas eve the year_ the world didn't end_, Aziraphale was surprised. He'd only been to the demon's flat a few times. It simply wasn't as comfortable as the book store was. It was like a museum, and though Aziraphale adored museums, he didn't fancy a drink in them. The last time he had been there, he was pleased to note that Crowley's plants were all doing well. He had asked the demon what the secret of his green thumb was. Crowley had just chuckled.

"If you don't mine my asking, dear boy, why your place this year?" Aziraphale asked him. He had been sitting in his shop, thumbing through a new (well, ancient, but newly acquired) tome when Crowley had swooped in, the flash bastard he was, and had asked him to come to his place Christmas eve.

"We survived the apocalypse, Angel. It's been six glorious months since the end of the world, and here we are. So why not celebrate in style this time?" Crowley was giving Aziraphale one of his tempting, suave grins. "Just swing by sunset on Christmas eve, yeah?" Then he was gone, sweeping out of the store, off to go commit various acts of mischief.

After the world _didn't end_, Aziaphale and Crowley had both found themselves in rather odd straights. The world had gone back to the way it was, only...slightly different. Slightly better. Both of them had expected to be punished rather severely for their role in the world _not ending_. And yet, the punishment hadn't come. The only word they had received from their respective superiors were two standard issue postcards. Aziraphale's had simply read "resume normal angelic duties until further notice," while Crowley's had a slightly more menacing "resume normal duties. Investigations ongoing." The two of them certainly didn't feel safe yet, but it had been a good six months, and neither of them had been smote or dragged into hell yet, so that was promising.

Aziraphale had in fact gone back to business as usual; (not) selling books, nipping around England to do some do-gooding, thwarting wiles, and meeting up with Crowley for the occasional drink. Crowley had gone back to work as well it seemed, roaring around in his fixed up Bently, enjoying tapes that weren't the Best of Queen and causing problems. The world was very much the way it had always been, rather than a horrific supernatural battlefield. So why not get into the Christmas spirit and really celebrate this year?

He'd have to find Crowley a very good present.

Crowley did not personally decorate the flat. Rather he flipped through the yellow pages, and hired someone to decorate the flat for him. It seemed strange to see the place with a dash of color in it, but the decorators had done a good job. Everything was red and silver. Silver christmas tree with red ornaments. White christmas lights and stylish red bows laced themselves through his marvelous house plant collection. There were lights on every door way, and tasteful glass snowmen on several counters and tables. At the other end of 200 quid, Crowley found himself with an apartment that was both festive and delightfully modern looking.

As far as music went, Crowley had an aversion to actual hymns, and he knew how Aziraphale was about any lyrics written since 1840, so he settled on a tape of instrumental covers of Christmas carols. It sounded quite respectable, and didn't make Crowley's skin crawl. He'd gone liquor shopping too. Plenty of eggnog, and hot apple cider and brandy. All very festive and likely to get him pleasantly drunk.

He was pleased with himself.

Crowley didn't throw parties. He often went to parties on business matters however; vodka in a senior prom punch bowl here, the suggestion of just one more game of beer pong there. On one memorable occasion, Crowley had gone to a college party and moved a rather tattered trampoline a few crucial feet towards the house, putting it in what Crowley liked to call "bad choice proximity." This is the distance of a trampoline from an adjacent building with a flat roof that is just close enough to invite bad choices, and just far enough away to punish them. Four fraternity boys had broken their legs that night.

But throwing a party was quite out of the question. It would mean that people would be in his flat, and he couldn't have that. This however, really wasn't a party. It was just him and Aziraphale, doing what they always did, but instead of being at the angel's shop with all its clutter, they were in his flat, and it looked damn sharp.

Aziraphale knocked awkwardly on the door at just about sundown. He held a bottle of vintage red wine in one hand, a lumpy, poorly wrapped package in the other, and a tin of gingerbread cookies balanced on top. Aziraphale was awful at wrapping presents. Though he meticulously tried, his fingers were simply too clumsy for the tricky wrapping job. The present, Crowley was amused to note, seemed to be wrapped with more tape than actual wrapping paper.

"Merry Christmas, my dear," Aziraphale said, holding out his gifts.

"Wine, excellent choice," Crowley chuckled, taking the wine, cookies and the lumpy gift. He turned the lumpy thing over in his hands a few times after placing the wine and cookies on a counter. Surely the angel didn't get him a sweater or socks. Aziraphale was generally pretty good a gift giving. True, the year he gave him a pet hamster hadn't ended well (though it was tasty while it lasted, the look of horror on Aziraphale's face when he found out what had happened rather spoiled it). Other than that rather traumatizing occasion though Crowley found Aziraphale's gifts surprisingly tasteful. So what could be in the sad lumpy looking package?

"The flat looks very impressive, Crowley," Aziraphale was admiring the various decorations. Aziraphale didn't decorate for Christmas. He had tried over the years, but any time he tried to buy lights they somehow got tangled up into an unfixable knot before he even got them hung.

"Hmm? Yes," Crowley said, still turning the lumpy thing over in his hands. "Angel, what is in this, exactly?" he asked.

"A few drinks first, and then you can open it," Aziraphale said happily.

"Right..." Crowley said with a frown. He didn't like to wait, especially when gift giving, or rather, gift_ receiving_ was involved. The little lumpy package was placed under the tree next to the present Crowley had gotten for the angel.

The two of them settled down on the sofa and drank a toast of Aziraphale's wine to the continued existence of the world, and all the lovely things in it, including old books, flashy cars, and sushi restaurants. The wine went quickly. It always did.

"So you think the boy is going to be ok?" Aziraphale asked as they poured the last drops of wine into their glasses. "I'm just worried you know. He seemed so nice, aside from almost destroying the world."

"Last I checked he was doing fine," Crowley said. The warm haze of insobriety was beginning to fill him up, and they still had all that spiked eggnog.

"You checked on him? When was this?" Aziraphale asked. He hadn't been told of this.

"I...just the other day. It was on my way for an errand," Crowley said, waving the question off. "Just swung by, asked how he was getting on. His dad thought I was a door to door salesman. Told me he didn't want any double glazing, thank you very much."

Aziraphale snorted into his wine. "Well I...think it was very...mm...sweet of you to check on him," the angel said. "But what errand did you have near lower Tadfield?" Crowley kept most of his business near London. He didn't like the country side much. The only plants Crowley seemed to like were those he kept in pots.

Crowley finished his wine. "Come, we've drunk. Presents?" He stood up and scoped the presents off of the floor. He tossed his present into Aziraphale's lap. It was heavy and solid.

"Wait, I want to know what you were doing in Tadfield," he said and looked down at the finely wrapped package in his lap. Curiosity was pulling him in two directions now. They say curiosity killed the cat, and Aziraphale greatly disapproved of animal cruelty. But he was a curious creature all the same.

"Presents," Crowley was laughing and flopped onto the sofa next to him.

"But-" Aziraphale was fairly certain that the present in his lap was a book. What book would Crowley buy him though? What irony there was in buying a book shop owner a book. But Tadfield was still nagging at him as well. What was Crowley doing out there?

"Enough about Tadfield," Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. He was turning his lumpy package over in his hands again. "Now, shall we open them? I want to know what you got me that appears to be a lumpy sweater, but better not be a lumpy sweater."

Aziraphale looked insulted. "It is not a lumpy-"

"Good," Crowley cutting him off. "Shall we just open our presents now?"

"Patience is a virtue, Crowley," Aziraphale huffed. Well, more or less, he mentally corrected. Angels did tend to be very patient, but then, Angels are immortal. One could afford to wait when one had, literally, all the time in the world.

"Exactly." The demon chuckled. "You're virtuous. I am not. I'll go first," he said, really wanting to find out what this odd gift was. Aziraphale gave a sigh in resignation, and Crowley began to tear at the paper.

"...a blanket?" Crowley said as he held out what did in fact appear to be a dark red blanket. A small power cord flopped out of the folds. "An...electric blanket?"

"It's sort of like a heat rock," Aziraphale was grinning, half teasing, half sincerely. "Top of the line. It has all sorts of settings. I know you like things like that...oh my. It is ok, isn't it?" he asked, watching Crowley's expression carefully.

The truth was Crowley had always thought electric blankets were a fantastic idea, but he was too bloody embarrassed to buy one for himself. He liked warm things (an old habit that he'd really never been able to shake from the _old days_), but electric blankets seemed like something only old women with too many cats purchased. Crowley was acutely aware of what cashiers thought of him when he made purchases. He was a demon. He had to keep up appearances.

So he held the blanket in his hands like it was a long desired guilty pleasure. He looked up at the angel and shook his head, beginning to laugh. "Angel, you have ridiculous taste in gifts."

"Good ridiculous, or bad?"

"Good."

"Ah, well. Excellent," Aziraphale beamed. He looked back down at the clearly-a-book in his lap. "Shall I open mine then?"

Crowley nodded. "Yes, yes, go on. I'll go pour us some egg nog while you do," he said and stood up. As much fun as it would have been to sit and watch the expression on Aziraphale's face as he opened the gift, it was almost better to imagine it. There was the crinkle of wrapping paper, a gasp, and then the heavy thud of the book hitting the floor. Crowley grinned at that.

"H..how?"

Crowley returned to the sofa with two large mugs of eggnog. "Well, it's not much use to the Device girl now, is it? I know you already read it, but you like to collect things and-"

"But it was all burned," Aziraphale said. He was running his hands over the cover of the book slowly. Yes, there was some soot here, and a few singe marks there, but it was still very clearly the _Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter._ "It was hardly even a book anymore. This..."

"Oh, Satan, heal this book?" Crowley suggested. "I couldn't fix it was well as I know you can, but...well. Merry Christmas, yes?"

"That's why you were in Tadfield?" Aziraphale looked up at him, with slight awe.

Crowley gave a small shrug. He wasn't sure he liked Aziraphale looking at him like that. It made him feel like he wanted to be a better person than he was. "I'm glad you like it. Here's an idea," he said, holding out the eggnog. "We test out this blanket you got me and drink the rest of this oh so festive beverage?" Aziraphale couldn't argue with that.

They got the blanket plugged in and laid it over the both of them as they sat on the sofa and began to consume the eggnog spiked with rum. It was the perfect sort of evening. Halfway through the bottle, Aziraphale broke out the gingerbread cookies.

It was so cliché that Crowley almost felt ill. But he enjoyed sweets, and he enjoyed getting drunk, and he really enjoyed how warm this blanket was. They spent the evening as they spent most of their time together, talking. Aziraphale was the only being in creation, heaven and hell alike, that ever seemed to really listen to him. That made him special. They could talk for hours. They could talk for millenniums.

They reminisced about the old days, as they got drunker and drunker; that one time they went to the theater in Athens together and how Crowley looked ridiculous in his toga; the time they went on the Crusades and what a mistake that was in retrospect; the time they had lunch with Shakespeare and the old bugger slipped out and left them to pay the tab. They remembered the original Christmas; how Aziraphale had forgotten his gift for the baby Jesus, and Crowley had been asleep in the manger by total coincidence as a snake and didn't even realize what was going on until the wise men showed up. Eventually though, it was just Aziraphale talking.

"So next week, do you think you could take care of a quick blessing in Trafalgar square while your up there?" Aziraphale was asking. Crowley, under the warm haze of eggnog and this bloody wonderful blanket had lost the thread of the conversation ages back.

"Mmm? Yeah, sure."

"Crowley are you falling asleep?" Aziraphale looked to his right. Crowley had his head rested on the back on the sofa, and though it was hard to tell with his sunglasses on, Aziraphale was fairly sure that his eyes were closed. He was always somewhat amused by Crowley's penchant for sleeping. He personally almost never slept, unless he had nothing better to do.

"Mmm, no. Of course not," Crowley slurred, sitting up slightly.

"...It is late. I suppose I should go," Aziraphale moved to stand up. He didn't want to overstay his welcome, and it seemed the demon was only just barely maintaining consciousness.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrist, his glasses slightly askew. "No, no. Stay."

"But...I really should.." Aziraphale protested.

"But baby it's coooold outside," Crowley gave a small drunk chuckle, in a way that was clear he was trying to sing, even though Aziraphale had no idea what song it was supposed to be. Must be be-bop.

"Now, really, Crowley..."

"No, no. I'm serious though. Let me tempt you...just once. Stay, it really is cold out there. Just stay," Crowley said. He wasn't sure exactly _why _he wanted the angel to stay, but he knew that it was what he wanted. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that no one really wants to be alone on Christmas, especially on a christmas that shouldn't have ever happened in the first place. He didn't want to over think it. Over thinking got him into trouble.

"I..." Crowley had placed his hands on Aziraphale's chest though and was leaning closer to him. He was giving him a devilish look that Aziraphale was having a hard time dealing with. He liked making people happy after all. "Well...ok..."

"Good," Crowley said with a drunken laugh and laid his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. Their bodies were pressed together on the sofa under the electric blanket.

Aziraphale gently took Crowley's glasses off. "These will..um...break, if you sleep in them," he said softly, though he suspected that the demon was too busy nuzzling his shoulder absently to notice.

"Mmm..."

"Crowley..." Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist and held him there. There was a tenderness in that touch. This felt familiar, though they'd never laid like this before. Like the world, it was basically the same as things had always been, just...slightly different. Slightly...better.

The clock ticked to the twelve.

"...Merry Christmas, Crowley."

"Merry Chrisssstmasssss, angel," was the demon's sleepy reply.


End file.
